Ghost On The Stairs
I sat rocking in my computer chair. I hated nights like this when nothing was coming to me. I couldn’t focus; I could feel unseen eyes on me. Just like when I was a kid, I listened for my mother’s rhythmic snoring. That sound used to always make me feel better when I was younger and afraid of monsters under the bed. I could fall asleep knowing that someone was next to me. Now, I’m almost 25, working on a graduate-level English paper, which examines sexual symbolism of Ernest Hemingway, and I’m doing the same thing. I tried not to chastise myself. After all, it had been a really long night. I had just gotten home from a 3-hour bus ride into the city, for an unpaid internship where I can get a bunch of office monkeys’ coffee.
I hated it and sometimes I resist the urge to spit into their coffee—for God’s sake, George from accounting knows my name isn’t Kandi. I reminded myself that Kandi was probably the name of his first wife, and she was probably a stripper.
I walked down the stairs quietly, making sure that my high heels didn’t hit old creaky stairs. I slipped off my shoes and poured myself a glass of Red Cat wine, which helps me think.
My tummy growled, I realized forgot to grab dinner at the bus station.
I made my way out to the kitchen and grabbed a bag of cheddar and sour cream chips. As I turned to walk back to the living room with what passed for dinner, I thought I saw someone standing in the living room. I closed my eyes and told myself it was the coat rack. I walked into the living room and grabbed the TV remote, but I heard footsteps on the old wooden stairs so I turned down the TV.
I grabbed sweatpants from gym bag, switched my heels for some flip flops, and slid my bra into my backpack. After completely zoning out with Netflix, I made my way upstairs, making sure not to wake my mom with the sound of my dirty white flip flops.
In the bathroom, I picked up my purple hairbrush out of the sink and pulled it through my hair. I looked up, and what I saw will haunt me forever. I saw a faded image of a little boy in the mirror, wearing a blue and green tie-dye shirt.
That’s the last thing that I remember.
To be continued.